


Nothing Good Happens after 2:00 AM

by fluffybookfaerie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffybookfaerie/pseuds/fluffybookfaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to #THINMAN</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Good Happens after 2:00 AM

Cas finished the bunker's last book on angels well after midnight one night. He'd gone through them all, one by one, since he moved in, hoping to learn something about reclaiming heaven, or at least to fill all the empty hours he had recently found himself facing. He wished he weren't awake at this hour. Of course, the word awake implied an alternative, and there was none, not since he'd regained his powers. "Recharged his batteries," as Dean might say. He never thought he'd miss sleep, which wasted so many of his precious hours, but he did. He felt its absence in these hours of boredom. And he missed dreaming, sometimes. It offered him a brief, sometimes beautiful escape from the world. Dreaming tonight would have meant he didn't have to contemplate what it meant that a handful of angels were looking to him to lead them. He wouldn't have to remember the last time he was in a position of power.

His cell phone rang. It showed Dean's number. Cas picked up eagerly. They'd been out of touch for a while, which was to be expected, as they each had their own issues to deal with, but he disliked going so long without contact. He missed Dean. He missed the sound of his voice and the way he cracked jokes that weren't always funny. And if Cas were to be honest, he needed support. He wouldn't ask for help, not now when Dean already had so much to deal with, but Dean was sturdy, and Cas needed that.  
"Hello, Dean," he smiled into the phone.

"Where are you?" Dean asked shortly.

"In the bunker," Cas answered, furrowing his brow. "Sam made a copy of the k--"

"Good," Dean growled, and hung up, leaving Cas puzzled and a little worried. He was a little hurt, too, but he pushed that aside.

It wasn't that Dean being rude was unusual. He was often prickly, though far less often now than when they had first met. But there was something hollow about his voice.

He didn't have long to wonder, because his perceptive ears soon detected the familiar sound of the impala's engine. And then the slam of a car door. Not two, just one.

Cas made his way to the front door just before Dean opened it, and he let himself take in the sight of him, though there wasn't much to see, just the highlights of his face light by the soft glow from within the bunker. The finer features of his face, the softness of his lips, the brightness of his eyes, that Cas knew were there, were lost to the matte dark of the night. The effect was eerie, and Cas approached him cautiously.

"What's wrong, Dean?" He reached forward, hesitantly, to place a hand on his shoulder, wanting that reassurance for both of them, but Dean stepped back, away from him, resisting the contact. But still, there was some force that made Cas step towards him, some barrier that was always between them that Dean had somehow broken by coming here, now.

"How much do you care about me, Cas?" Dean asked him quietly, without preamble.

"More than anyone I've ever met," Cas said immediately, because it was one of the few things he was sure of. He worried, momentarily, that voicing it like this would frighten this strange, hollow Dean off, but Dean just closed his eyes and nodded.

"I get these dreams sometimes," Dean told him in a low voice, opening his eyes halfway. "The dirty kind. You're in them. Sometimes just fragments. I'm on my knees sucking you off. Sometimes it's this long scenario that plays out. We're in purgatory, things are attacking us, we kill them all but I'm just covered in blood, so you bring me to a river, wash the blood off me, and then you kiss me. And then I'm kissing you all over, your neck, your chest, your cock, and you're gasping and pressing against me, and then you're fucking me and I'm groaning, grabbing your hair, tasting your sweat.

"And then I'll wake up. You know I used to be pretty fucking terrified that you'd hear me, the way you hear me when I pray."

Cas had to clear his throat to answer that. "I never did," he said quietly.

"Yeah, I figured," Dean said. "Sometimes, when I was not totally awake yet, and my boner was pressing at my boxers, I used to hope you did, though. Maybe you would've joined me. Maybe you would've gotten into bed with me and slid your hard cock into me, stroking me, moving with me, given me that sweet relief."

Cas's breathing was a little bit shallow at this point, and maybe back then he wouldn't have known how to respond to a dream like that, but he knew what he wanted right now. He didn't know why Dean had chosen now of all times to say this, why he was confessing it like this, but when Dean stepped towards him and his face resolved itself into the familiar Dean, and his smell, that scent of sweat and leather and metal and sweet nectar, Cas didn't care anymore.

Dean leaned towards him, bracing his hand against the door frame above Cas' head--

and as he did so, his sleeve fell down his arm, and Cas saw that there was a mark burned into his forearm.

The mark of Cain.

"What have you done?" he breathed, sagging back numbly.

Dean shrugged off the question and leaned towards Cas, who pulled his face away but grabbed Dean's forearm, where the mark lay.

"What is this, Dean?" he growled.

"It's just temporary," Dean shrugged again.

"It can't happen like this," Cas snapped, angry with himself for almost giving in when he knew, it was so obvious that there was something off. "You're not yourself right now, Dean, are you?"

Angry and rejected, Dean punched the doorframe and stormed back into his car.

Cas stayed in the doorway, pondering whether or not to follow, but in the end, Dean watched through the windshield as Cas retreated into the bunker.

This is me, Dean thought as he slammed his fists into the steering wheel until his calloused skin began to bleed. I am someone who kills people and feels nothing. I am someone who hurts the people he loves. I do not deserve to be loved.


End file.
